Flames
by em j
Summary: Post 'Way to Go' but the magic is wearing off. Is it worth fighting for? Songfic based on Nerina Pallot's album 'Fires'. GSR.
1. Damascus

**Ok people, I don't know if anyone has noticed, but my fic 'Every Step She Takes' is turning into a bit of an abandoned WIP. But I promise it will get finished, I just don't know when. I am in the middle of 4 weeks of AS level exams so everything's a little hectic and the inspiration just hasn't been there. I would rather finish it and enjoy it than force myself to bang out an ending, so… I'm afraid there may be a wait. **

**I did get a sudden moment of inspiration, however, when listening to an album I just bought, 'Fires' by Nerina Pallot (which I would sincerely recommend). The fact that one song is called 'Geeklove' (not actually one I've included in this story but hey, it has the line 'We're geeks but we know this is love', it has to be written for us) was just too much for me to resist and my mind went into overdrive. As such I procrastinated, stopped revising, and this happened… I'm posting all the parts at once. I hope you enjoy it… please review, it makes this insignificant girl from London feel a little special.**

**Love, Em xxx

* * *

**

'**Flames' by emj**

**Set post 'Way to Go'. Well, Grissom and Sara are together, anyway, and have been for a while. The magic's wearing off…**

**Each part based on an individual song from the album 'Fires' by Nerina Pallot, as demonstrated by the parts in italics.

* * *

**

Damascus

_Years ago, you said to me,  
_"_I think I'm losing the fight,  
__or the fight's losing me, I'm not certain."_

Grissom wandered into the living room, a steaming cup of tea cradled in his hand. Sara was curled up on the sofa, her beauty still striking him like an arrow even though she was wearing casual sweatpants and an old T-shirt. Her hair was scraped back into a messy ponytail and he noticed the way a strand hung loose, a brown curl against her beautiful clear skin. In her hands was a book but she looked up from it as he walked in. Immediately as their eyes met her peaceful façade was shattered. Grissom felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach and chided his body for this reaction. It was not right that he should feel this way about Sara. Not Sara, whom he loved so dearly. He had seen this happen before; it was a cycle he feared was inevitable. Recently she had been disappearing within herself, only emerging to pick an argument. He had tried to talk to her but she had retreated into her shell, closed up and looked so close to tears that his own emotions allowed him to push her no further.

_And here we are – the closing scenes  
__and all the house lights come up.  
__Oh, the falling of our final curtain…_

"Did you make me one?"

"Sorry?"

"A cup of tea."

Grissom moved over towards the sofa but Sara immediately adjusted her position, making it clear that she was not inviting his company. Reluctantly he sat himself down in an armchair instead, holding out the mug.

"Have this one."

"No." Sara returned her eyes to the book. "I didn't want one." Grissom sighed deeply. "Don't sigh at me!" Sara snapped. "It would just be nice to be asked."

"Sorry, honey."

There was no reply.

_I've played a role for so long that I've forgotten myself –  
__But I said I'd be there, and I'm keeping my word._

A few minutes later, as Grissom was feeling his still full cup of tea grow cool in his hands, Sara suddenly stood up. "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"Just for a walk."

"A walk near any alcohol-serving establishment?" The minute the words had escaped Grissom's lips he knew he should not have said them.

"What is that meant to mean?"

"I think you know, Sara."

Sara threw the book down onto the sofa. "No, Gil, I don't. Why don't you explain?"

"I'd rather not."

"If you don't trust me to go for a walk and not come back drunk, then please tell me."

_You've played yourself so well  
__and now I want to be you:  
__A great imitation of losing my nerve. _

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"No, Sara." Grissom placed his mug on the ground next to the armchair and stood up slowly, his muscles objecting. How ironic it should be that the woman who had once made him feel so young should have recently caused him to age so greatly, both physically and mentally. He reached out a hand cautiously to Sara's arm. For a moment their bodies connected, his hand feeling the coolness of her pale arm, and he saw a glimpse into their past. He remembered the loving, affectionate woman who he had fallen in love with. But then he also remembered the difficult times he had supported her through as best as he knew how. And even as she stepped back from his touch he knew that he could not leave her now, when she needed him most even though she would not admit it. He watched sadly as she stalked into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. Stepping backwards he felt his foot connect with the mug on the floor and cursed as the tea formed a murky brown stain, spreading out on the carpet.

_Oh it's over.  
__And everything is wrong, everything has gone.  
__And I know that everything means nothing._

He bent down and picked up the mug. Making his way into the kitchen he felt a strange sense of despair wash over him. He wanted to curl up into a ball, like Sara was probably doing in their bedroom right now. He wanted to escape life. But he knew he could not. To do so would mean personal destruction and, most crucially, destruction of Sara. She needed him. He needed her. Maybe she needed him to need her. Maybe he needed her to need him. He didn't know any more. They had co-existed for so long that she was an extension of his being. When she hurt he hurt too. He needed to fix her because if he did not they would both stay broken.

_Oh, it's over.  
__But I don't want to fight, I don't want to be right  
__I know that everything means nothing.  
__On the road to Damascus they fell.

* * *

_

_I saw the light – I saw the light!  
__But hey, it never saw me –_

As Sara lay awake in bed she tried to remember whether Gil had slept in their bed the previous day. It was a rare occurrence these days and each day seemed to blend into the next. Once upon a time it had been her work that had kept her going; had given her a focus. Then it had been Gil. He had been her reason to live. Hell, he still was. If she had not known he was always there, sitting in the next room waiting for her to be ready to talk, even though he knew he could be waiting forever, only God knows what she might have done.

But why? She asked herself that question for the umpteenth time and once again could not answer it. She remembered the last time this had happened; she had nearly lost her job. Gil had got her through that also. He was always there, her knight in shining armour. Metaphorically speaking. And she was the damsel in distress. Not so metaphorically.

_Oh conversation has left me heathen.  
__And we could wait a thousand years,  
__perhaps a million or more,_

She heard a tap running in the bathroom. Only seconds later it stopped. The television turned on but it took only a minute for Gil to establish there was nothing on that he wanted to watch. She heard the sound of his footsteps approaching the door, her ear picking up every sound acutely. The sounds stopped and Sara could have sworn she could hear the sound of his breath right outside the door. She held her own until the sound of footsteps moving away confirmed he had decided to leave her in peace. This was what she had resorted to; hiding, in every sense of the word, from the man she loved. And this was what she had driven him to; he felt uncomfortable in his own home.

"Sara?" The sound of his voice startled her. He sounded close. Apparently her ears had deceived her; he was on the other side of that door, only inches away from her. She closed her eyes and willed him to leave. She could not face him. Not now. "Sara?" Ever? She had a horrible feeling the answer was no. "I love you, honey. Sleep well."

_If it's worth waiting for, but I'm leaving.  
__So on to a mecca of earthly delights –  
__Depression is only desire deprived. _

After a few minutes, Sara got up and tiptoed over to the cupboard. As she pulled out a large travel bag, a box fell out, landing with a crash on the floor. She cursed herself and held her breath for a couple of minutes until she was sure Gil had not heard. Or at least he had chosen to ignore it. As she reached to place the box back in the cupboard a photo slipped out of it. Picking it up she saw her own face grinning back at her. She looked healthy. She looked happy. Her skin was glowing and healthy and her arm was outstretched, holding the camera out in front of her and her companion: Gil. He looked slightly awkward and uncertain, his eyes watching Sara as she smiled, but there was warmth in the look he was giving her. Devotion; love; they were blissfully happy. How far had they come since that photograph had been taken? It was one of a million beautiful memories, now tainted by less pleasant ones. Sara did not want the happiness to be tainted any more.

_Once more unto the breach and fuck my getting it right –  
__We've died for so long, let's just get out alive.

* * *

_

_Cause it's over.  
__And everything is wrong, everything has gone.  
__And I know that everything means nothing._

Grissom had made himself a bed on the sofa after wishing Sara goodnight, something he did every night. A week ago, whilst she had been bathing, he had entered their bedroom. It used to be a place they shared. Now it was Sara's sanctuary; her escape from him. That hurt. He had found a travel bag lying out by the bedside. In it had been a few items of clothing and a photograph Sara had taken of the two of them a year previously. He had panicked. He had not slept since for fear she would leave. Yesterday he had gone into the bedroom again and found the bag in exactly the same position and the photograph still lying on top. He wondered if he could allow himself some rest…

_Oh, it's over.  
__But I don't want to fight, I don't want to be right  
__I know that everything means nothing.  
__On the road to Damascus they fell.  
__Well I've been to Damascus,

* * *

_

_It's hell, hell is where I'm gonna be,_

Sara pushed the door open as quietly as she could possibly manage. She peered through the gap, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the living room in comparison to the bright light of her bedroom. Gil was lying asleep on the sofa. Her heart leapt slightly at the sight of him. For a moment she simply stared. She had not allowed herself to face him much recently. It hurt too much. But now she allowed herself some time. Some time to say goodbye.

_The devil my intimate friend._

After a moment she feared she would be unable to leave him and immediately picked up her bag, averting her eyes from the sleeping figure. With steps so light she was almost floating, she moved over to the front door. Gently she reached to the latch and slowly pulled it open; she awaited the creaking hinge that had always irritated her…it never came. Gil must have oiled it. He always said he was going to do it, she smiled to herself, but somehow never had time. She guessed he had had a lot of time recently.

_And hell is other people's hearts_

As she walked out of the apartment, she suddenly remembered something. With reckless abandon, forgetting her need to be silent, she rushed back into the bedroom. Lying on her bed was the photograph of her and Gil. It was the happiest time of her life encapsulated in one picture. But as she picked it up she realised that she did not deserve this. She knew her memories would never fade. Picking up a pen from beside her bed she wrote three simple words on the back of it. As she left the apartment for the last time she placed it on the table next to the sofa. And with silent tears she pulled the door shut behind her.

_And knowing that everything must end.

* * *

_

When Grissom awoke he felt her presence was gone. He knew from the moment his eyes opened. As he walked through the open door into what had once been their bedroom he did not need to check the wardrobe for the travel bag. He knew it was gone.

It was only when he re-entered the living room that he noticed the photograph lying on the table. On the back was written, _I love you._

_Oh it's over.  
__And everything is wrong, everything has gone.  
__And I know that everything means nothing.  
__Oh, it's over.  
__But I don't want to fight, I don't want to be right  
__I know that everything means nothing.  
__On the road to Damascus they fell –  
__Well, I've been to Damascus as well._


	2. Idaho

Idaho

_In the back of a car on a road in the dark  
__In the stillicide, silently falling snow_

Sara could not count the hours she had been behind the wheel, staring at the road ahead as though her life depended on it. She had got into the car and driven. She had not known where she was going; she still did not. All she knew was that she could not stop. She was worried that if she did, everything she was running from would catch up with her. Or, worse, she would lose her momentum and turn back. The force that was drawing her back to Las Vegas, otherwise known as Gil Grissom, would exert its power and she would give in and go home. And nothing would change.

_I have packed everything that I own in a bag  
__And I'm driving, I'm driving to Idaho._

All of a sudden, as she was driving along a deserted road with dust flying up at the car, a wave of nausea washed over her. Barely taking the time to check her mirror, she slammed the brakes on and jolted to a halt. Throwing the car door open, she was violently sick. Her throat stung, the bitter taste remained in her mouth and made her feel desperately thirsty. It took her a few minutes to recover herself. Her stomach still did not feel entirely settled as she drove off once again.

_A poem for leaving, a reason to go  
__So I'm driving, I'm driving to Idaho

* * *

_

_Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me.  
__And I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free_

Sara booked herself into a small motel. $10 dollars a night, including breakfast. Her body clock did not appreciate the attempt to sleep at night. She lay awake most of the night, her mind focused on the reason for this inability to keep a normal sleep patter; the other thing she had left behind. She wondered if anyone in the lab would miss her. She would not be surprised if it was a relief to them to see her gone.

_I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet_

When she eventually fell into a shallow sleep she only managed an hour before she woke up and once again was violently sick. She did not get her money's worth; she skipped breakfast.

_My hands are on the wheel so I'm driving to Idaho.  
__Cause I hear it's mighty pretty…

* * *

_

_And oh, I've been dumb, I've been perfectly beautiful  
__Lain on my back buying lovers with stealth._

Sara had been driving for two hours when she became aware of a faint buzzing coming from the back seat. Pulling up on the side of the road she pulled her cell phone out of her travel bag, buried beneath a pile of creased clothes and a couple of books she had picked up purely because they were neutral enough not to remind her of anything she had left behind. She ended the call with the quick press of a button, ending the desperate vibration of the phone, and switched it off. Then she buried it in the bag once again.

_But I'm sick of you all, and I'm sick of opinions  
__And I'm sick of this war I wage on myself…_

Road signs flashed by as she sped along the quiet roads but she made a point of ignoring them; she knew she was heading away from home and that was all she needed to know. Images ran through her head: where she had been this time yesterday; the case she had left in the middle of; the excuses she had made to Nick, Greg and Warrick until they had stopped asking her to come out with them. And then they had tried to avoid speaking to her altogether. Then she had been left only with Gil. And that would have been enough had she not decided she could not let him through her barriers either.

_I don't know why I'm so gripped to go there –  
__A universe riddle that only I know?_

She was surprised by how little time it took for Las Vegas and the lab and Gil Grissom to seem like a distant fantasy; her past turning into a strange yet entirely focused dream. The people she had known and loved became characters in some strange fairy story. Now here she was, the princess-that-wasn't, running away from her handsome prince. Rescue was not likely now.

_Mr Robert he says, 'It's all in the head!'  
__Tell me, Phaedrus, what's good, is it Idaho?_

The seconds turned into minutes turned into hours. Three days and three sleazy motels later and she had made progress only geographically. The feeling of nausea had not left her. Were her mind in reality, something might have occurred to her…the constant sickness in the morning…but she did not allow herself to think…

_Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me.  
__And I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free  
__I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet  
__My hands are on the wheel so I'm driving to Idaho.  
__Cause I hear it's mighty pretty…  
__In Idaho._


	3. Mr King

Mr King

_Good days, bad days, I've had a few of those.  
__Same old story – I know how this song goes,_

The sound of the phone jolted Grissom from what had barely been sleep. He stared at the source of the noise. In the weeks after she had left he had answered every call burning hope, so strong, that it would be her. The pain each time he had been disappointed had been unbearable; it had been reliving that moment he had woken up and found her gone all over again. Eventually the hope had faded until now he had given up answering the phone all together.

He knew that it would be Catherine. Maybe Nick. But probably Catherine. Not much of an intricate thought pattern to be followed. He had struggled into work each day after she left until Catherine had persuaded him to take a week's holiday to recover himself. He had had a renewed sense of energy; like a man on a combination of speed and coffee he had spent the whole week looking into every possible lead he had into where she had gone. He had discovered things about her he never knew. Some hurt. Some made him smile. Some gave him a glimmer of hope that he could find her. The week turned into a month, each day the investigation becoming more of an attempt to keep her memory alive than a genuine attempt to track her down. Eventually his motivation waned; then it all but disappeared. But Grissom did not go back to the lab.

_At least, I did, but now I'm not so sure.  
__Nothing's in its place, nothing's certain anymore._

The sound of the phone stopped. Grissom knew Catherine would come round after her shift now. If she did not speak to him on the phone then she always popped round to make sure he was…well, alive. Still eating, washing, sleeping. Were it not for her, he probably would not do all these things. He appreciated it but sometimes he just wanted to be left alone. Now was one of those times.

_Birds fly. Trees sway. Why can't I be like that?  
__Happy knowing what I am, in fact, and leaving be?  
__But truth has been obscured –  
__I am only human and I'm always wanting…more.

* * *

_

_Oh the world is a place, and they say it's on our side,  
__But I wonder, is there comfort in those moments when we die?_

"Are you sure I can't make you some soup or something?"

"I'm fine, honestly," Grissom reassured Catherine, whilst trying to subtly guide her towards the door. He was not having a good day and he had no need to share his despair.

Catherine was not stupid. She pulled the door open and turned to look at her friend concernedly. "I'll speak to you tomorrow."

Grissom nodded and closed the door behind her.

_Now I see, Mr King, this was in the books you gave me –  
__Which I read, disbelieving, thinking poets are depressed._

It was six months ago today that she had left. He had lost track of time on a general scale but somehow his brain did not allow him to forget each time another month passed. As if he could forget, he thought grimly. He still slept on the sofa. He preserved their bedroom exactly as it had been the day she went. He had hated the fact that she refused to share it, but now he saw it as a shrine; it was all he had left. The sheets were unwashed; on one particularly low day he had just lay on the bed, convincing himself her scent still remained. If only she would come back, he would let her have the whole house to herself. Just knowing where she was would be enough.

_Oh, Mr King, I have changed, I confess.

* * *

_

_Oh those good days I remember well:  
__Tape on windows, wintertime was hell_

Grissom never went anywhere without that photograph. With her smiling face gazing at him, he could sometimes imagine that she was there. Those three words hand written on the back gave him a glimmer of hope; only for a second, but it was there. A few times of day he would pull it out and just stare for a moment. He was like a junkie, needing his next hit.

_But it was fun, and people there were kind –  
__There was good work to be done, and I learnt to think my time._

Contrary to popular belief he did leave the house. Usually in the middle of the night. He still slept during the day. Old habits die hard. And part of him wanted everything to stay as it had been. If she returned…no, when, she returned, he needed everything to be the same so she could slip in unnoticed, like a ghost in the night. One morning he would wake and she would be lying in her bed. Just as quietly as she had gone, she would return.

_And the world was a good place, and in days were where I lived  
__I imagined life had purpose and I'd something good to give._

Only a month before she had left, she had had a good day. They occurred rarely and Grissom had known he had to make the most of it. In a strange sort of way, she knew it too. They had gone out for a meal. Nothing fancy, just a local Italian restaurant that she liked. They had eaten pasta and then shared an ice cream.

"Vanilla ice cream, with two spoons, please," she had asked the waitress, smiling, before glancing at him with an excited look in her eyes, as though they were sharing some great secret. He had not eaten much of the ice cream. Instead he had watched her savour every mouthful, laughing when she had taken the first spoonful and it had stung her sensitive teeth. She had flicked some of the ice cream at him as punishment for that. It had been so…ordinary. But so perfect.

They had left the restaurant hand in hand, wandering the quiet streets. By the time they had reached home, she was not speaking to him. He still could not remember why, though he had relived those events in his head so many times. But she had gone to bed alone as usual. That had been the last time he had seen her smile.

_Mr Cave played on the battered hallway piano –  
__Oh every love song a secret to be shared.  
__Oh, Mr King, how I wish I was back there.

* * *

_

_Now, I've got 10 things lined up on a shelf  
__Reasons to be cheerful for myself._

The unstoppable ticking clock running inside Grissom once more set off an alarm at the eleven month marker. Only a day previously, he had convinced himself he could go back to work. He had had a good day; or at least as good as they got since she had left. Catherine had come round and in a moment of crazy optimism he had asked her if his job still stood. Of course it was not her decision, but she had reassured him that he would be welcome back any time he felt ready.

But then the alarm had gone off and now he felt like a prisoner in his own home. The mere thought of going back to work was enough to exhaust him. Only one month more and it would be a whole year since she had left. In some ways it had gone so fast. Yet at times he had felt like the clock had stopped; he was trapped in the nightmare that was his life.

_I don't know why you're showing me the sky –  
You say you see heaven,  
I see hell, but want to try. _

_

* * *

_

_And the world is a place, and I pray it's on my side,  
But I'd find greater comfort if I just lay down and died. _

One year and three days, seven hours and about six minutes. That was the exact moment when the phone rang. And for some reason, Grissom could not bring himself to let it ring.

"Hello?" he murmured, fully expecting Catherine's voice to reply. But there was silence on the end of the line. "Hello?" he repeated. "Who is this?" It's a prank, he told himself. But for some reason, he could not hang up. He thought he could hear breathing. All of a sudden his stomach turned over and his heart leapt. Then there was the sound of a baby crying. He took a deep breath, and then the line went dead.

_I don't know what's become of the girl who once knew sunshine,  
__What's become of the girl who knew sorrow but was strong?_

Then he allowed himself to say the name he had been unable to for so long.

"Sara?"

_Oh, Mr King you were right, all along;  
__Mr King you were right.  
__Oh Mr King, you were right – I was wrong._


	4. Sophia

Sophia

_5 o'clock and a fire escape symphony  
__Spilling out across the road and the square._

The sound of the police sirens fifty feet below the single window in her claustrophobic box-like apartment resonated in Sara's head and made her want to scream. But she did not because someone in the room already was and the sound of two cries might attract attention, something she did not want. With silent tears running down her cheeks, tears of desperation and exhaustion, she lifted up the young baby who was lying on the creased sheets of her uncomfortable single bed. As she attempted to sooth the distressed child, the image of one man would not leave her head. She wondered what he would do in this situation.

_And the sky's the same as your own, do you think of me?  
__Do the parks, and trees, and the leaves reach you, there?_

The baby-gro the little girl was wearing was designed for a child half her age. Nearly six months old, yet some people still mistook her for newborn. Sara wondered whether she had been a small baby. No one had ever been in a position to tell her. She would ask the child's father whether it was hereditary on his side, but she had cut off that link a lifetime ago.

That did not mean she did not think about him, however. She imagined him every day, in Las Vegas, examining crime scenes, sitting in his office reading books about bugs. Every time she saw a common house spider she could not help but think of him. She pictured him bathing, eating dinner, sleeping. Now he had his own bedroom back. She remembered the life that now felt like something she had read about in a book. Now she was sitting here, in a dirty apartment where she was sometimes scared to step outside the door, and beginning to wonder what she was meant to do now her years' savings were beginning to look dangerously low. Caring for one was one thing, caring for two was a whole different issue.

At first she had attempted not to think about him, but since the little one had come along, that was no longer an option. Every time she looked into her daughter's eyes, his face stared back at her.

_After the rain, in the lonely hours he haunts me, calling out.  
__Again, and again._

Even once the apparent police chase had disappeared from the neighbourhood, the little girl refused to stop crying. Sara tried to feed her, checked her diaper, sang to her, but nothing seemed to work. Resisting the urge to give in to her emotions and sob, Sara placed her daughter on the bed in front of her and scrubbed the moisture from her own eyes with the back of her hand. Then she began to talk to her daughter about her Daddy.

_Sophia, Sophia, I'm burning. I'm burning.  
__It's a fire, a fire I cannot put out._

"He would love you very much, my little angel," she whispered soothingly. "Maybe one day he will be able to tell you that himself."

Then she noticed the young child had fallen asleep; her eyes closed peacefully like one who knew none of the pain surrounding her.

_Sophia. Sophia I'm learning that some things  
__I can't go without and one of those is him.

* * *

_

_And now I walk the streets like a stranger in my home town.  
__Learn the language, form the words when I speak_

"What a gorgeous baby," the shop assistant drawled, cooing over Sara's little girl. Her eyes scanned Sara's body. She had always been slim but now she looked painfully emaciated, her collarbones and cheekbones harshly jutting out and her eyes surrounded by dark shadows. "You got back into shape mighty quick, honey," she smiled. The comment was not meant accusatorily, rather the cashier was attempting to word her thoughts in a nicer way than 'you need to get some food inside you', but Sara had no time for friendly conversation. She scowled and pulled her daughter's pram away from the assistant. The middle aged woman, with bleach blonde hair and brightly coloured eye make up, looked hurt and went on to scan in Sara's groceries in silence. There were a large number of diapers and some powdered milk but a sincere lack of food that Sara herself could eat.

_But he changed me, I'm his ghost since he came around  
__And now I count the hours and the days in the weeks._

"That'll be twenty dollars," the woman demanded, her friendliness dissipated.

Sara opened her purse. Inside were three five dollar bills. She handed them to the woman and proceeded to pour out all her change. Two dollar coins were handed over. A further dollar made of two fifty cent coins. Another dollar from dimes. Now all that was left was one cent coins. She counted them up to a total of fifteen cents. Flustered she removed a packet of plain biscuits from the bag she had packed. "Can you cancel these?" The cashier looked at Sara and her baby sadly. Sara could barely stand it. Pity was not something she dealt with well. "Please. I'm in a hurry." Sara had not been in a hurry since the day she had left Las Vegas.

"You can have them, honey."

"No, I-" Sara protested.

"Take them." The woman stretched out her hand for Sara's fifteen cents. "Special offer today."

Sara opened her mouth to protest but then a hunger pang hit her, she glanced at her beautiful girl, and she realised she was in no position to turn away charity. "Thank you," she murmured.

_Passion and silence  
__Every word. Every line. A measure._

Sara passed a beggar outside her apartment block on the way home; his entire life inside a bag the size of the one Sara had just put her groceries into. He gazed at her pleadingly. In the past she would have given him a few loose coins but since the little one had arrived, charity was a luxury she could little afford. Instead she smiled apologetically, knowing inside that was little comfort to a man with nothing. Each day that passed she felt better equipped to sympathise with people like this man; each day her money had to stretch that little bit further; each day she could not sleep because of the smell of damp in her apartment. She knew she still had it better than this man probably ever had, but guilt about his position was all but forgotten when she gazed into the pram she was pushing along the street. If a few cents made the difference between her daughter having a meal each day or not, then beggars would have to make do without her help. How could someone who needed charity herself give charity to others? She knew someone who would gladly help but it was too late now to ask. Pride had kept her from him once. Now there was something much stronger holding her back. Fear. Fear he would have moved on. Fear he would not want her back. Fear he would be angry.

_It's the science of the soul.  
__And his books,  
__they breathe a reason and now I want to know…_

The elevator was broken so she struggled to pull her daughter in her pram, along with the groceries, up the stairs. By the time she reached her own apartment, the girl was crying once again. But now Sara had realised what it took to make her child sleep.

_Sophia, Sophia, I'm burning. I'm burning  
__It's a fire, a fire I cannot put out._

As she closed the door behind her and bolted it shut, she began to talk out loud, making herself heard over the cries.

"He was such a wonderful man, your Daddy," she began. "Once upon a time we were happy, you know. The first time I met him, I was blown away. Only by his scientific prowess at first, but then I began to realise there was more to him than that. When he called and asked me to come to Las Vegas, I had no doubts.

"There were others, of course. There was a man called Hank, for a while. For a few weeks I allowed myself to believe we were going to make it. But he was always there, your father, in the back of my mind. Secretly I was relieved when Hank and I split up. I don't think your Dad realised that though. He was always a little slow on the uptake," she laughed.

_Sophia. Sophia I'm learning that some things  
__I can't go without and one of those is him._

"He got there in the end, though. It was probably the happiest day of my life. The happiest year of my life. We went to work with smiles on our faces, as though we were sharing the biggest secret that ever was. But, of course, everyone realised soon enough. And they were happy too. God, we were all one big ball of happiness! But then…well, I went and ruined it all."

_You, with your new born eyes,  
__have you ever loved a man like I love him?_

"It's my fault that we're here, and not home with him. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Now tears were gathering in Sara's eyes but she refused to let them fall. "Anyway, what matters is that he is your Daddy and he loves you very much, even if he doesn't know it."

And her daughter had fallen asleep.

_Do you hurt but still feel alive, like never before?  
__Oh, Sophia. Sophia._

_Sophia, Sophia, I'm burning. I'm burning  
__It's a fire, a fire I cannot put out.  
__Sophia, Sophia I'm learning that some things  
__I can't go without and one of those is him._


	5. Halfway Home

Halfway Home

_I've got a quarter in my pocket of an apple left to eat:  
__It's a wonder that I'm standing on my own two feet._

It was a strange but inexorable daily ritual now. Grissom would walk to the Italian restaurant where he and Sara had gone on that last happy day. He would order a vanilla ice cream and not eat very much of it. Then he would wander home. At first the restaurant owners had seemed confused but now they had got to know Grissom and his strange habit. Now they smiled and welcomed him in. They had learnt not to ask any questions.

Each time he returned home he held his breath just in case she was there. It had been seven years. He knew all hope had gone, yet he could not let go. It had cost him his job, his friends, his life. But still he clung on to her memory.

_In the shadow of a thousand veiled Victorian goodbyes  
__Jewels of litter come to greet me, and it stings my eyes._

Today when he opened the door the phone was ringing. After suffering his daily bitter disappointment when he realised she was not there to pick it up, he had answered the call. But there had been no reply, only the faint sound of breath against the receiver. He went to hang up the call, but was unable to do so, just as he had been unable to six years ago when he had received a silent call. Whether it was genuine hope and belief or sheer desperation that kept him on the end of the phone until whoever it was hung up, he did not know.

_Oh it burns like a fire and it pulls me through –  
__We are parted by desire for the strange and new._

Grissom had replaced the sofa with a fold out bed a few years ago so that he could have some decent sleep without invading Sara's space. Now he hardly ever made the effort to fold it up each time he woke. There was no one there to see the mess he and his home had turned into. Every now and then he spent a whole day clearing up, however. Whenever he had a moment of faith; when he believed she would return. Since that last call he often watched the phone, willing it to ring and for her to speak.

_I've got a quarter in my pocket, I'm advancing to the booth,  
__I am picking up and praying that I talk to you._

The next day he walked to the Italian restaurant as usual. He ordered a vanilla ice cream. The waitress smiled kindly and served him, but made no attempt to make conversation. He ate a little more than usual, but still left Sara her fair share. He paid the bill and left. As he pulled the door open he spotted a young girl, aged maybe six or seven, sitting alone by the window, eating a vanilla ice cream just like his. She looked strangely familiar.

_And now, I'm halfway home, I'm at the corner of our street,  
__Would you like to come and meet me?_

As the door swung shut behind him, he watched the girl through the window, strangely mesmerised by her pretty brown eyes and her long brown hair tied into pigtails. She looked so much like…and then he spotted her, reflected in the glass. He spun around so suddenly he nearly tripped, and then blinked a few times to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. But she remained each time he opened his eyes, simply standing, staring. Her hair was shorter and she had lost a little weight, but it was her. She was real. She was there.

_Now that I am halfway home  
__Man, I never felt so lonely –  
__I long for you to hold me now I'm home.

* * *

_

_Somedays, there was comfort as a stranger far from home.  
__Sometimes, a hunger and a longing not to be alone._

The drive to Las Vegas had passed far quicker than the one she had made from the city around seven years previously. This time she had an audiotape of 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' playing and a little girl sitting in the back seat; the little girl of whom the only trace on her journey from Las Vegas had been an unsettled feeling in her stomach. Maybe the tape, maybe her daughter, maybe the beautiful weather had made the journey pass so quickly. But Sara suspected it was more her own fear of ever arriving that had ensured the three days and two nights had passed in a flash.

Now they were here. They had checked in to a hotel. It was strange, feeling like a stranger in what had once been her home. She had showed her daughter some of the sights, always glancing about her nervously for fear of seeing someone she knew before she was ready. She needed to find them, to find him, not the other way round.

_Imagining emotion in every man that I would meet –  
__But it was physics, and subtraction, to an ancient beat._

After two nights she had decided it was time. Her own nerves could not bear it much longer and she convinced herself that it would be much better to get it over with; the anticipation was so much worse. It was like band aid; you had to rip it off and then it would be quick and painless. Although somehow, Sara doubted this would be either.

Her little girl was becoming restless. Excited by the new sights, but impatient. "Why are we here, Mummy?" she had asked. "How long are we staying?" The first question, Sara could answer, but did not want to. The second even she did not know the answer to. That depended on one man.

_Oh, it burned like a fire, and I wore it so…  
__We are tied up in desire, and we won't let go._

So she had woken her daughter up in the morning and said they were going on a trip. "Another one, Mummy?" she had questioned, bleary eyed and groggy. They had walked for two hours, stopping only to buy the little girl a bar of chocolate as a placebo when she became tired. They had got close to where Sara had once lived but then her nerves took hold and she deliberately took a wrong turning so that she would avoid the street. It had got very hot and Sara marvelled at her daughter's perseverance. Mummy had said this was important, and apparently that was enough. The indescribable, overwhelming love she felt for the child walking beside her was what gave her the courage to turn around and go in the right direction.

_Well, I've no quarter in my pocket of no apple left to eat;  
__I am running, I am running and I can't feel my feet._

Then Sara had stumbled upon the Italian restaurant. As she gazed through the glass windows at the front she could see him and her, sharing a meal, laughing. She could taste the ice cream. So she took her daughter inside and allowed her to choose a dessert. Vanilla ice cream. Sara could not help but smile at the little girl's choice.

_And now, I'm halfway home, I'm at the corner of our street,  
__Would you like to come and meet me?_

Sara herself was not hungry. The smell of pizza and pasta mingled with the sweet aromas of ice cream and she had to get out. She had taken a long loop around the block before realising she had been twenty minutes. Panic for her daughter gripped her and she ran down the street. She was just about to dart across the road to reach her little girl, who was sitting contentedly with an ice cream in the window when she saw him. He was just leaving the restaurant. If her eyes were not deceiving her, he was staring at Sophia. She could not move; her feet felt as though they were glued to the spot. She just stared, practically open mouthed, her heart pumping so fast she was sure it must burst. And then their eyes met. He looked as though he needed to run a comb through his hair and she thought he had lost weight, but it was him. He was real. He was there.

_Now that I am halfway home  
__Man, I never felt so lonely –  
__I long for you to hold me now I'm home.

* * *

_

_Now I'm home, home is where I wanna be._

Sophia was sure the man was staring at her. But she did not feel scared. He had friendly eyes, she thought, so she smiled at him for a moment before returning to her ice cream. It was nearly finished. Mummy had been gone a long time. "I just need to go for a walk, sweetheart," she had said, looking a little bit pale. "The nice waitress will look after you." The waitress was nice. She had given Sophia chocolate sauce with the ice cream. But now Sophia began to wonder where Mummy had gone.

_Now I'm home, home is where I'm gonna be._

Everything was a bit strange right now, Sophia thought. Three months ago, Mummy had said they were moving. Sophia had had to say goodbye to all her friends. A man and a woman had come to look at their house, the comfy home that Mummy had worked so hard to buy and which Sophia loved. They must have loved it too because Mummy told her they had bought it. The lady had had a very big stomach. Mummy told her that there was a baby inside. "But it must be so little!" Sophia had said. "You were that little once," Mummy replied, but Sophia did not believe it.

_Past the church, and past the steeple,_

And then Mummy had packed up their things in boxes. Sophia had asked, "How will we fit my bed in the car?" Mummy had told her the furniture was staying. But Sophia had been able to pack all her toys, and her books, and her drawings, into two big boxes. Then one day all the boxes went into the car and they had started to drive. Sophia felt sad, but excited. She liked staying in hotels on the way. She had never stayed in a hotel before.

_past the sad and lonely people,_

And then they had arrived here; in the city with lots of bright lights. It was quite loud and sometimes a little strange, but she liked it. The people were friendly. The buildings were big and bright and there was always something new to see. And Mummy seemed happy here. She could tell. Even though she was nervous about something and she was not sleeping, she liked the bright lights too.

_Past the old school on the avenue,_

When Sophia had asked Mummy why they were here, she had replied, "I have to see someone." "Who?" "A man." "What man?" "You'll see." And then Mummy refused to answer any more questions. She did not know how long they would be. She did not know where they were going to live. She did not know whether the man would help.

_I am running, I am running…_

And today they had walked for so long that Sophia's feet hurt and her head ached from the sun. But she did not want to say anything. She could tell from Mummy's face that this was important. And anyway, now she got to have this nice ice cream. That made her feel better.

_And now, I'm halfway home, I'm at the corner of our street  
__Would you like to come and meet me?_

Now Sophia looked out the window again. The man was still standing on the sidewalk. On the other side of the road was Mummy. They were looking at each other. Then all of a sudden the man ran across the road. A car honked its horn and had to stop very suddenly not to run him over. But the man did not seem to care. He wrapped his arms around Mummy and held her very tight. Mummy stood still for a moment but then put her arms around him. She could not see her face clearly, but Sophia thought Mummy was crying.

Maybe he was the man, Sophia thought. The man that Mummy came here to see. She hoped so. He had friendly eyes.

_Now that I am halfway home  
__Man, I never felt so lonely –  
__I long for you to hold me now I'm home._


End file.
